PROLOGUE

All in all, Vinny liked his job. It wasn't a glamorous job, not even in the world of the criminal underground, but that was one of the things Vinny liked. He didn't need to worry about a price on his head or a target on his back. As long as he stayed in the shadows, he would be allowed to remain in the shadows, and if things ever got too heavy like they had in Boston, he could just fade away and disappear. In the meantime, he could make a lot of money doing relatively light work.

It was a good life for a thief.

Today would be even lighter work than usual. The gang didn't need any more fighting dogs for a while. That meant no body armor, no stun guns, no spiked collars and more importantly, no having to wonder if the dog he was kidnapping would get past all of his defenses and just rip him to pieces. He remembered reading about a case a while back where some cuckoo in Arizona was siccing dogs on people and tearing them to pieces. Not a good way to go, no sirree. No good for Vinny.

Today, he didn't need to worry about that. The gang needed bait dogs, sweet, innocent little things that wouldn't hurt a fly. Preferably animals that couldn't hurt a fly.

That suited Vinny just fine. He got paid less for bait dogs, but he could pull four or five of those on a good night. Fighting dogs were always one at a time and much harder work.

He strolled down the neighborhood whistling. He wasn't worried about being seen. This was the sort of neighborhood where people wore blinders. What wasn't their business couldn't hurt them. That was the prevailing attitude in the projects, and that also suited Vinny just fine.

That didn't mean he could be brazen, but it did mean that he could work without fear that some nosy neighbor would call the police on him. Vinny had watched the neighborhood for a few weeks now, and he knew the owner wouldn't arrive for several hours.

It paid to know things. That was another thing Vinny was good at. In Boston, knowing things had allowed Vinny to obtain a position of some prestige in the Franco family. Vinny no longer made it his business to sell information, but he still liked knowing things. Knowing things kept men like him alive.

He reached the house and noted the chainlink fence that encircled the front yard. He glanced casually to his right and saw that the same fence wrapped around the backyard as well, separated by a decrepit wooden gate. He tapped the wire cutters in his pocket and continued down the street.

When he reached the end, he turned right, then right again. The houses on Becker Street were separated from the houses on Grant Street by a two-foot-wide easement that at one point served as a concrete-lined drainage ditch, but now served as an overgrown pile of dirt with five-foot-tall weeds growing out of the cracks.

Vinny blessed his love of walking and clear liquor for keeping his figure trim and svelte. He slid in between the easement and worked his way back to the house he targeted.

The dog waited in the backyard. She was a pretty little Cocker Spaniel with bright golden fur, almost like a King Charles, and the expressive, playful eyes for which the breed was known. She heard the strange human approach and rose from her feet to cock her head at him.

Cocker head at him. Heh.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said with a smile, pulling the bolt cutters from his pocket. "Boy, you're a beauty. And so small, too. You can't weigh more than what, twenty pounds? You're going to make one of those boys a tasty snack. Speaking of a tasty snack."

He paused his work of cutting the links on the fence and pulled a bacon treat from his pocket. That stuff was like candy to dogs, and this one was no exception. It perked its ears up—well, as "up" as a Cocker Spaniel could get its ears—and tentatively approached Vinny.

Vinny looked up at the doghouse in one corner of the yard. The dog's name was written in bold letters across the top. He grinned and said, "Here, Macy. Come here, girl. You want a treat?"

Macy cocked her head again, confused. How did this human know her name?

He held the treat up and called, "You want some bacon, Macy?"

Macy perked up again and trotted close. This was a nice human, like the kids she ran into at the dog park sometime. He only wanted to give Macy a treat and scratch her behind her ears and tell her she was a good girl. That was all right.

He tossed the treat to her, and she caught it in the air, then barked proudly. Vinny grinned and pulled out another treat. "You can have this one when I get inside," he said.

A few more snips took care of the fence, and Vinny gave Macy the promised treat. He put his bolt cutter away and set his bag on the ground. Macy was a small dog, maybe twenty pounds or so. It wouldn't take much of a dose to knock her out. Half a pill should do.

Vinny carefully opened one of the white pills and emptied half of the powder onto a small slip of rolling paper. It had been nearly fifteen years since his last cigarette—not a fan of cancer, was Vincent Mariano—but the supplies, the paraphernalia, the police called it, were of great use to him in his work.

He reached into his bag for the last treat, a peanut butter flavored cupcake that had proven to be a favorite of all dogs from teacup to titan. He carefully spooned a hole out of the center of the cupcake and dropped in the powder, then tamped the peanut butter back over the top of it.

"All right, Macy," he said, "Here's a nice, delicious—"

He stopped when his eyes fell on a pair of black boots. He looked up and saw that the owner of the boots wore a black ski mask as well. Black gloves, a black t-shirt, and a black mask that looked like a wolf.

And a black shock collar in his right hand.

"Shit," Vinny said.

He managed to get halfway to his feet before the stranger clamped the shock collar around his neck.

"Hey!" Vinny cried, "What the—"

His words were choked short by a jolt of electricity that clamped his teeth together and stiffened him like a pole. He shuddered as fifty thousand volts robbed him of control of his body. The electricity cut short, and he fell to the ground, gasping and jerking as spasms wracked him.

"What…" he choked. "What…"

Electricity coursed through him again, and his teeth clamped shut once more. He tasted blood and realized he had bitten through his tongue.

The electricity cut out again, and a muffled voice said, "Where?"

"What?" Vinny coughed. "Where what?"

The stranger lifted a small remote and calmly adjusted a setting.

"Hey, wait," Vinny said, "Please…"

His pleas were drowned out by another jolt of current, this one noticeably more powerful than the first two. When the shock cut out again, Vinny felt his heart stumble a few beats before grudgingly resuming its rhythm.

This was very bad.

"Where?" the stranger repeated.

Vinny thought hard. What could anyone possibly want to know from him? It had to be something to do with the gang. If they knew Vinnie, that meant it had to do with the dogfighting ring.

So where what?

The stranger lifted the remote again, and Vinny forgot all about thought, forgot all about anything but saving his own life. "They keep the dogs in an old warehouse on Jackson Street! The fights happen all over the place, backyards usually. They just hire me to pick up the dogs. I don't train ‘em, I don't fight ‘em."

The stranger nodded. "Thank you."

He adjusted the setting on the collar again, twisting a dial clockwise until Vinny heard a click.

"Oh man," he whined. "I'm just trying to make a living man."

Those were the last words Vincent Mariano ever spoke. The man pressed a button, and a surge of liquid heat poured from the collar into Vinny's brain. His eyes rolled back in his sockets, and his teeth clattered like a wind-up toy. His arms and legs drummed the ground, and a burning sensation filled his nostrils as the skin on his neck melted.

The collar stopped, and so did Vinny's heart. His head lolled over to the right, and the last thing he was aware of was Macy trotting happily back to her doghouse, the cupcake in her mouth.